


Feralia

by tamlen



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Conzio, M/M, Temporary Blindness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlen/pseuds/tamlen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warmth of Ezio's hand is reminiscent of the sun; he's flown too close. ConEzio AU in which Haytham temporarily blinds Connor during their final confrontation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feralia

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Ezio lives during the 1700s and visits the colonial bureau as well as Connor during a time of need. I'm ConEzio trash. Tell my mother I'm sorry.

The past few days have been trying.

He feels the warmth of the sunlight peaking through the window of his bedroom—he doesn’t know if he slept through the night or not, the heaviness in his heart and the numbness of his mind renders everything to feel the same. Despite having a voice, he feels as if someone has torn his throat open and snatched it right from him.

His movements are slow, and as he wearily stands up, he stumbles against the nightstand. A hand catches his own and pulls him back, only slightly, to ensure that he stands up properly.

It’s no surprise that Ezio is awake before he is.

"Good morning, tesoro mio."

Connor can tell that he’s tired; he knows that he says this, not in jest or some romantic spirit, but for Connor. His hand slips out of his own in silence however, and he continues on forward.

The mornings between them are more often than not silent. Not out of disdain or tension of any sort, but because Connor has been at a loss as to what to say for days now. To himself, to anyone. With speechlessness and blindness accompanying one another, he wonders if there’s still any humanity or worth left to his being. 

Ezio does not need words, however.

Ezio’s hands brush over his collarbone as he buttons the last of his shirt—and Connor braids a strand of a hair hanging over his face, like he does every morning, as Ezio softly guides him with a “Right, left, right, left…”, slipping three colored beads into his fingertips.

He tugs at Connor’s collar to straighten it properly, and they simply stand against each other for a moment.

"The doctor will be coming today."

"…"

His body is worthless—he is worthless. And worthless people with naive and far fetched purpose have no place in the Brotherhood, let alone the world.

"Your recruits—they are doing fine. You’ve taught them well."

He smiles weakly, not with the intention of Connor seeing it or knowing, but because he had to—he was supposed to.

"…And what of your own?"

"Fine, as usual. They are self sufficient and capable people. Claudia knows what she’s doing—there is no need to worry on my behalf. The most my absence will do is upset Claudia’s girls."

Ezio doesn’t hold his hand, because prideful men don’t bode well with hand holding, and maybe he would exploit that on a better day, but not today. Instead, he lightly tugs at his pinkie to beckon him out the door and towards the dining table.

Connor sits as Ezio lays out a plate for him, and Ezio pulls out a chair adjacent to his own. He tiredly pulls a bit off the croissant on his plate, and notices that the noise present seems to be coming from himself and only himself.

"Why are you not eating?"

"I will eat once you do."

As exhausted as he is, he still manages a scowl. But it’s much weaker than usual, more akin to that of an angry puppy’s than a wolf’s. Ezio hums as Connor eats, and when he’s finished he pushes his plate towards Ezio and loudly taps it to signal his victory.

"Alright, alright, I will get the bruschetta out. Happy now?"

As their breakfast passes, Connor leans back into his chair, resting his head against its crook and sighs.

"They say his funeral is today."

"And are _you_ saying you want to go?” he says with a hint of aggravation in his voice.

He hears a clack from his plate, as if a fork has fallen, and that’s enough to tell him that Ezio’s frowning.

"…I don’t know."

There’s a silence.

"…I won’t tell you what you can and cannot do." he interjects his sentence with a a light, but sad sort of chuckle "—heh, I know, I know that is surprising to hear from me. The man who has criticized you and teased you all these years. But closure…is something you have the right to. I…I am asking you to think. To think about this, and what it will do for you.

That is all.”

Connor doesn’t respond, his head low and heavy, and Ezio spruces up the table and softly plants a kiss on Connor’s forehead before taking his brief leave for the day.

It’s evening when Ezio returns to the manor, only to find Connor using the training dummy as a kickboxing bag of some sort. His breathing is jagged and heavy, his movements are rapid and brimming with fury, and he comes to stop upon Ezio’s entrance, sensing his presence almost immediately. He is quiet.

"I…am not senseless enough to attend a funeral only for my own to occur afterwards. They will be there. _He_ will be there. So I cannot…”

Ezio doesn’t respond this time, instead he gradually approaches him from behind, hands brushing against one another.

"Ezio."

"Yes?"

"I will survive."

Ezio’s fingers interlock with his own.

"You will."

"And I will live."

"You will."

"And he…he was my father."

"…He was.

But you did not deserve to be hurt.”

And for the first time in days, weeks, years—Connor’s expression is one of awe, realization and tearfulness.

"I…

I didn’t.”

And the warmth of Ezio’s fingers against his own, and the realization, it counteracts what feels like a lifelong numbness and he knows that brighter days are not dictated by when the sun shows and when it doesn't.


End file.
